


the absence of memory (that defined our togetherness)

by majesdane



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They have always been two halves of a whole.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the absence of memory (that defined our togetherness)

in the end, we were more alike than not, and gravitated toward each other, however wide the breach.

\-- _just kids_ , patti smith

 

 

They have always been two halves of a whole, Taylor thinks, as she stretches our her hand and catches Amanda's hand with her own, knotting their fingers together.

They're riding on one of the last of the old carousels in the New England area, and Amanda thinks this sort of thing is lame, Taylor knows, but she kind of likes it. It reminds her of her childhood and summer trips to Maine, where her parents hung her sheets out to dry. Later, she'd press her face against them and inhale the scent of sand and saltwater. It's not quite summertime now, but it's still a surprisingly warm October afternoon. They'd spent the morning walking in the park where the carousel was, admiring the red and orange and yellow hues of the leaves.

They didn't have those sort of things in LA.

"Come on," Taylor'd said, when she saw the carousel and heard the familiar, jangling tune she'd known since she was a little girl. "Let's go for a ride." She'd grabbed Amanda's hand and tugged her grudgingly along.

It was a wedding that had brought them to Connecticut; an old family friend of Taylor's that she hadn't spoken to in ages. She was surprised that she'd gotten an invitation, but she'd RSVP-ed straight-off anyway, because a) it would have been rude to not go, and, b) she didn't have anything else to do anyway. School was over for the time being and she didn't have a job. (Amanda did though, she was the manager of one of those popular chain coffee shops; the kind Taylor despised.)

"This is actually kind of fun," Amanda shouted over the music. Taylor gave her hand a squeeze. Amanda's long, chestnut colored hair looked particularly beautiful with all the brightly colored lights bouncing off it. It looked like there was a hazy sort of halo around her head.

Later, dizzy, they pulled each other to the ground, laughing; Amanda rolled on top of Taylor and pined her to the ground with a kiss.

 

;;

 

Adelle had given her a tour, before she signed all the paperwork. It was the customary thing to do, Adelle had said, as Madeline finished her cup of tea and they made their way over to the elevator, Adelle punching the button for the basement floor. It wasn't like you could back out at this point, Madeline knew, but she was curious to see what the Dollhouse looked like. Before she became a part of it, that is.

They landed on their floor with a soft _bing_ of the elevator and Madeline couldn't help but gape when the doors opened. She'd heard rumors, of course -- everyone had -- but she hadn't expected the Dollhouse to be so . . . Well, _big_. She marveled at the small pond in the center of the room, lined with the palest, smoothest looking stones she'd ever seen, as Dolls did yoga nearby and Adelle went on about all the luxuries that the Dollhouse provided for its Actives.

This couldn't possibly be as bad a place as everyone said it was, Madeline thought to herself, as she caught the eye of a girl a bit older looking than her, with long, brown hair and wide, dark eyes. The girl smiled at her and waved; Madeline smiled back, already feeling a thousand times better than she had earlier that morning, when she'd been called into Adelle's office to discuss her employment.

I think you'll find you quite like it here, Adelle told her with a smile, as Madeline signed her name on the dotted line and marked next to it the date.

 

;;

 

Whiskey had never seen someone new come into the Dollhouse before, but when she saw a girl with chestnut colored hair stepping out of the treatment room, she instantly recognized her as the girl she'd seen earlier, trailing behind Adelle. The girl looked different now -- softer, happier -- and was dressed in different clothes.

Clothes that matched her own, Whiskey thought, pleased, and ran her hands along her stomach, smoothing down the material of her dark blue shirt. She had to look her best, after all. Alpha always said that being the best was what was most important, although she hadn't talked to him in a while. He was somewhere else.

Hello, the girl with matching clothes said, waving tentatively. I'm November.

I'm Whiskey, Whiskey said, with an encouraging smile. Do you like to swim?

November hesitated, frowning a bit. I don't know.

Maybe you do. Whiskey stepped forward, reaching out and taking her hand. It's fun. It's okay if you don't know, though. Learning new things is what helps us to be our best.

Oh, November said, smiling, her cheeks turning the slightest, prettiest shade of pink. Will you help me?

Whiskey nodded. Of course, she said, moving her hand so that their fingers were interlocking.

 

;;

 

"Not in front of everyone," Sophia said, flushing, as Ivy leaned in for a kiss. "Come on, stop."

"What?" Ivy pulled back, confused, glancing down at the people in the spa-like area below, watching as some of them stretched in yoga positions and others read books by the small pond in the middle, seated on over-sized blue-black pillows. "Are you worried about these people? They don't care."

" _He_ said something about it last time," Sophia told her, cocking her head in the direction of a man dressed in a gray suit, his hair parted neatly to one side. Ivy instantly recognized him as Sophia's driver. Why would Sophia care if he said anything to her about them kissing? It just sounded like an excuse.

Ivy was suddenly angry. She pushed Sophia back a little, glaring at her. "Well fine then," she said, and stomped off to the garage where her own car was parked.

 

;;

 

I like being your friend, Whiskey said suddenly one day, when they were stepping out of the showers, wrapping towels around themselves and wringing out their hair.

Oh, November said, a bit surprised and felt a rush of warmth run through her that she didn't think had anything to do with just finishing taking a shower. I like being your friend too. She smiled at Whiskey, who beamed at her before leading the way back to their pods where they dressed for bed.

Can I sit with you for a bit? November asked boldly, as Whiskey climbed down to her bed, Whiskey looked up at her, staring at her curiously. When she didn't say anything right away, November began to wonder if she had said something bad. Whiskey had told her about a time when Alpha had done something bad and he'd gone away for a while. November didn't want to go away. She hadn't meant to be bad; she felt tears well up in her eyes.

But then Whiskey nodded and said, Yes, okay, and November swiped at her eyes once, quickly, before scrambling over to her. Whiskey's bed had different blankets than hers. Whiskey's were very light blue, like the sky. November's were darker, like blood. She liked Whiskey's more, she thought.

 

;;

 

"Did you have a good trip, Samantha?" A wiry man with messy blonde hair asked her, as Sam sat up, blinking, wondering just when she had fallen asleep. She stifled a yawn. She was turning out to be the worst spy ever, she thought, and climbed out her her seat, muscles tight.

"It was okay, I think."

The man smiled at her, folding his hands in front of himself. "Good. Now, Rebecca's in the next room getting changed and Hearn will take you to the woman who has your assignment, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Right."

She passed Becky as she made her way into the dressing room. Pajamas may have been comfortable enough for driving, but that was where their usefulness ended. "Hey," she said, as Becky tied her dark hair up onto a ponytail, checking her reflection in the dressing room's full length mirror. "Haven't worked a job with you in a while now."

"Thank God they actually let me have a good partner this time," Becky said, smirking at her in the mirror. "The last guy they set me up with almost got us both killed. Fucking amateurs. I don't know why they always insist on making us change up for different assignments. They're just begging for trouble, if you ask me."

"Well, that's the thing," Sam chuckled, as she shucked off her gray sweats, pulling on a pair of black, baggy jeans, tightening the belt around her waist. "No one did."

 

;;

 

When Echo arrived, things changed.

November became sulkier, Whiskey noticed, and it made her sad. November said it was because Whiskey was going out for treatments more and more often, along with Echo. Echo was obviously her new friend, November said, crying a little.

Whiskey tried to explain that that wasn't true. Echo was nice, but November was her friend first. November was a _better_ friend than Echo. She had nicer hair, a prettier smile, and she liked to do the sort of things that Echo didn't, like get up early in the morning to go for a swim before breakfast. _You're_ my friend, Whiskey reassured her, moving in closer next to November on the couch, resting her hand on top of November's.

I'm sorry, November said. I was mean. I wasn't my best.

It's okay, Whiskey said. Do you want to read? Reading was one of their favorite things to do. Whiskey and November liked to go through the books together, looking at the bright, colorful pictures and making up stories for each one of them. The stories were always changing and that's what made them fun. Whiskey reached forward and picked up one of the books from the floor.

November nodded and put her head on Whiskey's shoulder.

 

;;

 

When Michelle kisses her, it feels to Spencer like time changes, like every second is slowed to the length of an hour. Every moment, a lifetime. The blood slows in her veins, thick and heavy like slush. Her heart, which usually beats double-time when Spencer shoots her a coy smile, wrapping Michelle's scarf around her hand and pulling her in close, suddenly feels like it doesn't need to beat it all. Instead it feels ready to burst with an overwhelming happiness, so light and strong that she thinks she could probably float away like a loose kite, if Spencer wasn't there to keep her tethered to the ground.

"Oh," Michelle says, laughing into the kiss as Spencer's hands drop to her side, cool fingers sliding just under the edge of Michelle's blouse, brushing against smooth, warm skin.

 

;;

 

When Hannah kisses her, it feels strange.

Hannah reaches up to cup her hands around Karen's face, drawing her in, and Karen can't help but feel uncomfortable, knowing they're being watched so intently by the man Hannah was dancing with, only moments earlier. When Hannah pulls away, smirking, winking in the direction of their observer, Karen feels her stomach twist unpleasantly. Licking her lips, she can taste Hannah's strawberry lip gloss on her touch.

It reminds her of something. Or someone, maybe. She's not sure. It's like there's a gap in her memory, almost. She knows this taste before -- not the exact same kind, but something similar, maybe a bit sweeter -- but she can't place it. Where she knows it from, that is, and when Hannah moves away to mingle with other party guests, Karen escapes to the bathroom to be alone.

The taste is a memory that can't be remembered.

But the pain is real anyway. A sad sort of distant longing, that wraps itself around her heart.

She can't place that either.


End file.
